


blame it on christmas

by itsanizzyb



Category: Happiest Season (2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Christmas, Drinking, F/F, more tags to come, this is basically just a half-written romance novel now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsanizzyb/pseuds/itsanizzyb
Summary: Riley rescues Abby after the White Elephant party."I wanna be with someone who is ready," Abby whispers, and she steps forward, nearly colliding with Riley.
Relationships: Abby Holland/Riley Johnson, Endgame Abby/Riley but it's partly set during the movie so Abby/Harper at the beginning, Harper Caldwell/Abby Holland
Comments: 36
Kudos: 177





	1. give me forgiveness for what's about to unfold

**Author's Note:**

> I could NOT handle this movie and had to write a fix-it fic. The chemistry between Aubrey Plaza and Kristen Stewart was the only time I felt even vaguely cheered by this movie.  
> Give me a love triangle with Aubrey Plaza, Kristen Stewart, and Anna Kendrick!

Abby hates this.

She can't believe that Harper would spring this on her at the last minute. But Harper looks so freaked out, and at least she _has_ parents, and Abby would be lying if she said she wasn't more than a _little_ curious to meet-the-parents.

"I told them you had nowhere else to go because your parents are… no longer with us."

Meeting them as her _orphan roommate_ , however… might pose some problems.

That's it. No fucking way. Abby can't do this.

"I'm not going." She shakes her head, and keeps shaking as Harper begs and pleads. No way.

But… they're almost there. Abby doesn't want to go home and admit to John that Harper wouldn't even tell her parents about Abby. That she was _ashamed_. John's a good friend, but he's never been on the best of terms with Harper and he would absolutely flip a gasket if he knew about this.

Abby's heart beats painfully in her chest, and Harper widens her eyes, looking so bereft that Abby finally relents, nodding. "Okay, we can do this… It's five days. How bad can it be?"

Famous last words. The whole family is weird as hell. Snooty and snotty and snobby and Abby thanks every one of her lucky stars that her family was normal – or more normal than this, anyway.

It's the constant jabs that start to get her. "Those in need", "Abby's orphan friend", "You're so brave."

Although, Jane seems like a one-of-a-kind kook-ball so Abby can't really blame her for Tipper's passive-aggression.

She has to sleep apart from Harper. Although Tipper is being perfectly reasonable – two grown women who were just roommates would certainly _not_ want to share a bed – Abby resents Harper's not intervening right then and there. It would've been a perfect opportunity to come out, smooth things over. But Harper's closeted at the moment, and Abby has to respect that, so she plays nice with Jane and starts unpacking her stuff.

She gets a kick out of Jane – what a character!

She doesn't get a chance to talk to Harper before the dinner, and she gets squished in between Tipper and Jane in the SUV, so she's a little non-plussed when Harper's _ex-boyfriend_ shows up.

But, make the best of a bad situation, and all that, so she listens carefully to Jane's plot synopsis and Connor's _tedious_ stories about working as a legal assistant (the man is nearly thirty, really, _get a life_ , Abby thinks uncharitably as she downs more wine). She's a full head below everyone else, and it makes her feel like the unwanted cousin, little sister, kid-no-one-could-get-a-babysitter-for-on-short-notice.

It's all made up for by running into Riley though. She's always been curious about her, the ex, the first one. From what she can tell, she was the only woman that Harper dated before Abby, but Harper's never really talked about her at all. Her curiosity is only further piqued by the challenging way she greets both of them, and Abby thinks they've probably been sprung.

Barring that, or maybe even including it, the dinner is a disaster from start to finish. And despite Tipper's promise of total privacy, people keep barging in on her. Harper apologizes profusely for everything, but they're still not harmonious.

And that's before Harper and Sloane maul each other at ice-skating, the whole dinner thing with Connor, the constant snide comments from Sloane, and Tipper's obsession with nit-picking everything about every person in the house.

In particular, she has a problem with Abby's sense of style, which is problematic because she doesn't even _own_ any dresses. 

"Oh, you're such a tomboy," she says before the dinner. She has a somewhat satisfied smirk on her face, and it's not 'til later that Abby clicks that Tipper must have been pleased that she wasn't going to be any competition with Harper for Connor's affections.

"Don't you have anything more… _feminine_?" Tipper asks the next morning. They're going ice-skating, for crying out loud.

This whole thing turns into an endless shitshow, and she regrets not bringing a bottle of whiskey. Or vodka. At this point, she'd take _tequila_. Harper seems terrified to look at or touch her, so she's cold and lonely.

At the party that evening, she's dragged off with her father, and Abby's left with Jane again. She's nice enough, but intense, and a little _too_ interested in men, in Abby's humble opinion. Riley acknowledges Abby over the balcony, meeting her eyes and raising her wine glass ironically.

God, Abby needs wine.

She makes her excuses to Jane, saying she's going to the bar, but she's really thinking about talking to Riley. As she steps across the buttery wooden floor, a waiter wanders past and offers her a glass of champagne. She grabs it with a tight _thanks_ and drinks most of it before she gets three steps closer to the bar. She looks around for another convenient tray of champagne, but none are within reach, so she caves and orders a vodka neat from the open bar.

But she can't stop thinking about Riley and her ironic smirk.

She actually thinks she might pass out from boredom listening to Harper's high school friends drool over her ex. Connor is, possibly, objectively attractive. But he's obviously _obsessed_ with Harper, and none of these mediocre small-town housewives has a snowball's chance in hell of getting with him.

And, Abby has to admit, Harper doesn't seem to be hating it. She's definitely not hating it as much as she should, given that her girlfriend is less than twenty feet away.

She sighs a prayer when her phone starts to buzz, then genuinely smiles when she sees that it's John.

She hurries outside, accepting the call.

But it only makes her feel worse, reminding her of the mess she's in. "Did you need something, or did you just call to shame me?" she finally snaps.

Something something about a fish, then he just hangs up on her.

"Hey." Riley pops out from around the corner. Abby's heart drops into her shoes. Did she hear any of that? She doesn't have the Caldwells' heterosexual blinkers, and she'd definitely be able to put two and two together.

"Oh. Hey, hey," Abby says, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"How's it going?"

"Great," Abby says sarcastically. She half-hopes Riley picks up on it and half-hopes she doesn't.

"I was just taking a break from diagnosing everyone's mystery illnesses," Riley grimaces.

Abby chuckles awkwardly.

"Hey, I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything…"

Oh. She does know. Abby tunes out for a second – _what's she gonna do? Harper is going to kill her_. "I can relate," Riley says, searching her face.

_Deflect. Avoid_. "Like, to what?" Abby says, heart beating in her throat.

Riley eyes her, then puffs her cheeks out in a sigh. "Nothing. Nothing. Um, I'm gonna go inside. I'm sure my mother's hairdresser wants to show me her _weird finger_ again. So… I like your jacket." Riley gestures at the similarities in their attire and Abby finally relaxes. As if this woman didn't clock her from a mile away.

Riley leaves, and Abby spins on her heel. What the fuck kind of situation has she gotten herself into? Could this get any more complicated?

Turns out, the answer is _yes._ She gets _fake arrested_ by two spotty kids masquerading as mall cops. She doesn't even have the energy to argue. It had something to do with the two kids, she's sure. But they're so young, and surely even Sloane wouldn't put them up to something like _that_?

She's banned from dinner, and Harper doesn't even try to stick up for her. She tries not to be sullen, but it's getting harder with each passing moment. Tipper's barbs about her _morals_ are starting to get old, and when she says something about "your parents didn't raise you like we raised our girls," Abby has to physically bite her tongue to stop herself from yelling. Harper doesn't even offer her a soft touch, and she feels so alone. She stares out the window and tries to recite the alphabet backwards to distract herself from Tipper's monologuing and Jane's overenthusiastic side-hug. She's sandwiched in between Jane and Harper, and, sure, they're the lesser of two evils – the alternatives being Sloane and her husband – but why is she in any kind of position where she's referring to her girlfriend of more than a year as _the lesser of two evils_?

They drop her off unceremoniously on the main street of the town. Harper doesn't even wave at her as they drive away.

She feels so goddamned alone in the middle of goddamned nowhere. She crosses her arms over her chest. Better find somewhere for dinner, even if just so her fingers don't drop off from cold. She ends up in some random, sub-par Thai restaurant. She gets a Panang curry and frowns about it.

She pays, tips the waitress generously because she's the first person who hasn't looked at her like she's a monumental fuck-up all day, and makes her way out into the freezing winter air.

The cinema across the road is the pinnacle of Christmas cheer, and it's in stark contrast to the hollow feeling opening up under her breastbone. "It's a Wonderful Life." Yeah, right. When she blinks, the lights blur and refocus through her tears. She can imagine that she's on her way to the Yangs' apartment, ready to play with their puppy and eat Chinese takeout, instead of wandering the streets alone, while her closeted girlfriend plays nice with her homophobic parents.

When she sees Riley, her breath leaves her all in one exhale. The half-shrug of understanding Riley gives her nearly makes her cry, but she gulps it down.

And maybe it's against her better judgement, but after watching her girlfriend play heterosexual happy families with her ex-boyfriend for a whole dinner, and getting interrogated by mall security, and having Harper's parents tell her off like a little child, she's feeling a little rebellious.

So yeah, she flirts. Riley's sarcasm feels like coming home, like she's the only sane person in this town of empty facades and power plays.

It's definitely against her better judgement.

"You know, I'm glad I ran into you," she says, and she doesn't miss the quirk of eyebrows, the flicker of interest that runs across Riley's face. She swallows, trying to remember how to be funny. "'cause, I'm having this thing where if I stick my finger in my eye, it, like, really hurts." It's deadpan, and she hopes Riley will catch on.

Riley plays along – "once you get to the finger-poking stage, you're pretty much dead" – and maybe it's because she's the only person who's talked to Abby like a real person since she got here. Maybe it's because she's a gorgeous probably-lesbian. Maybe it's because Harper left Abby for Connor's company, but Abby says, "I'd _really_ like to drink some alcohol. Do you know where I could do that?"

And Riley delivers the goods.

Foxwood is a drag bar. Abby grins at Riley when she pushes open the door. Riley makes chitchat with the bouncer for a minute, then wends her way through the tables to find a booth for them. Abby smiles as she slides into the seat across from Riley.

She's definitely a lesbian, present-tense. That blazer, the confident way she cocks her head at Abby? Big. Dyke. Energy.

"I'll grab us some beers," she says, quirking an eyebrow as if to confirm Abby's alcohol preferences. Here she was, thinking this town only had too-fancy wine and hard spirits.

Abby nods gratefully, twisting around in her seat to watch the drag queens bumble their way through a raunchy Christmas carol. It wrings a laugh from her, unexpectedly, and the tension in her chest and shoulders eases up just a little.

Maybe this will be okay.

_It's five days. How bad can it be?_ she reminds herself.

"So, what's going on?" Riley asks, sliding a full glass across to her and dropping into the seat opposite.

"It's just…" Abby sighs, fumbles, takes a huge sip of beer. " _Harper_." The word comes out like an exhale, and a caress, and an accusation.

"Yeah." Riley's mouth twists as she takes two gulps of beer in quick succession.

Realizing even _that_ might be saying too much, Abby backtracks. She ends up telling Riley the whole mall cop story. Abby thinks Riley knows that Harper's her girlfriend, but she doesn't want to open up that can of worms right now. She wants to pretend that some other circumstances led to them sitting together in this bar, joking, laughing… flirting. Flirting? 

Riley promises to help her with the as-yet-unpurchased White Elephant gift, and then as the drag queens launch into another song, she bops her head up and down and smiles.

And although she had promised not to open that can of worms, Abby is curious. About yesterday.

"What did you mean, last night, when you said you could relate?" She's partly looking for validation, for someone, anyone to acknowledge their relationship and make her feel like she's not insane, and she's somewhat curious about Riley's history with Harper.

"That was just a comment based on an assumption that I was making about you and Harper," Riley fudges. She has a very light touch, hesitant to offend, clearly raised in this town of people who can talk around anything.

"I think it's probably an accurate assumption." Abby sips from her beer. Riley tilts her head, looking sympathetic, and understanding, and a little… disappointed, maybe? "You don't have to talk to me about this stuff. I know, it's weird."

Riley shakes her head abruptly. "So, what has she told you?"

There's more to the story. Not surprising. Harper's been a completely different person since they've been here. It must've been hell to try and deal with her as a closeted teenager. And the Connor thing. "That you dated in high school," Abby settles on. "That you were her first girlfriend. That's about it. Is there more?"

"Yeah. A little." Riley rolls her eyes. "I mean… Yeah. Yeah. Growing up, we were totally inseparable. We were best friends. And then, freshman year, we became more than friends. We started dating." Riley looks a little guilty for telling her ex's current girlfriend about their relationship, but the way she's shifting uncomfortably makes Abby even more curious. She nods encouragingly, trying to look open. "But nobody knew that, obviously," Riley continues. "We would, like, leave these little love letters in‐in each other's lockers. And one day, one of Harper's friends found one of the letters, and she asked Harper what it was about, and Harper basically just said that I am gay, and that I wouldn't leave her alone. And then within a couple days, like, everybody in school found out, and everybody was so awful to me."

Abby's heart stops for a second. That's awful. She can't picture Harper, the effervescent woman she's in a relationship with, doing that to anyone.

Oh, except now she can. Harper, the quintessential people pleaser, with her wide eyes and innocent stare. Yeah. Abby can see that, and it makes her feel sick.

"I'm sorry, that's… I'm sorry," she says.

"Yeah, so the thing that I can relate to is just being in love with somebody that is… too afraid to show the world who they are." That resonates painfully under Abby's collarbones. "But that was a long time ago." Riley shrugs, and half-smiles, and there's more she could say, Abby bets, but she doesn't, instead up-ending her glass to drain the dredges.

The thought of fucking Harper's girlfriend in the bathroom appeals for more reasons than one.

Of course, the first is that Abby is attractive, and Riley thinks it'd be pretty satisfying. The second is that the thought of getting back at Harper for outing her in high school by hooking up with her closeted girlfriend is… something. Something that makes Riley feel petty and vindictive, but also thrilled.

Harper's had everything handed to her, her entire life, and she's always avoided personal responsibility by lying and skating over the truth and pretending the ugly parts of life just don't exist.

So, yeah, Riley's not opposed to the idea of fucking Abby in the bathroom. But the longer she listens to her pour her heart out, the more she knows she can't do it. Abby's sweet, and obviously out of her depth, and she doesn't have the know-how to navigate these upper-class twats. Riley knows better than anyone how they screw with your head until you don't know which way's up anymore.

Riley gets her another beer and they finally broach the topic of Harper and Riley.

She doesn't want to come off bitter, but Abby deserves to know what she's getting into. She genuinely seems like a nice person. So Riley tells her what happened in high school.

To her credit, Abby seems shocked, and she looks like she's re-evaluating the Harper she thought she knew. _Which is the correct response_ , Riley thinks.

With a helpful move of the drag queens to the back of the room, Riley slides her way around the table, their thighs touching, and Abby's flirting back, and everything's going well, until Abby looks at her phone, and says she has to go.

Her hesitancy over the words makes Riley wonder if she should push her to stay, but she restrains herself. Abby will get there with time.

Riley plasters a smile on, nods, shuffles over to let her out of the booth, hugs her goodbye. Em K Ultra gives her a sympathetic look – _struck out_? – and Riley shrugs and laughs.

She has another beer and settles in to watch the show. She chats with a guy she went to high school with, who's now running his own law firm in town. He's not _boring_ , but he's not interesting either. Not like Abby. When they weren't talking about Harper's fucked up family, Abby had told her about her thesis in Art History – looking at how practices of restoration have been used to deny women artists' depictions of themselves. Interesting. Not something Riley had ever considered.

_Fuck_. The prospect of fucking someone in the bathroom is one thing, but finding their thesis interesting is another. She needs to pull herself together – she's just lonely, missing her liberal friend group in Baltimore, feeling like she's been thrown back fifteen years to the throes of high school politics.

She drains her second glass of beer and waves goodbye to Robert, making her way out into the cold. She walks past Fratty's on the way to her car, and she debates going inside to throw a spanner in the works of Harper's night out.

But she dismisses that urge and instead drives home slowly, not particularly drunk, and certainly not over the legal limit, given how long they'd been at Foxwood.

Her mom is having a Christmassy night-cap at home, but Riley declines her offer of a glass and goes straight to bed after chugging a tall glass of water.

Abby's feeling pleasantly buzzed when she gets to Fratty's, still glowing from the Foxwood. She waves happily at her girlfriend, and Harper barely acknowledges her.

Her mood sours instantly.

They barely have a chance to talk, and Abby's not at all interested in doing shots and dancing to mid-2000s pop songs with Harper's high school friends, one of whom is clearly trying to get her talons into Connor.

Abby's once again overwhelmed by a strong sense of being the one-gay-friend, the unpopular cousin, the tag-along little sister. She sighs. A _proper_ drink sounds good right about now – a hoppy beer, or whiskey-on-the-rocks, but she can already feel herself moving from pleasantly drunk to hungover, so she decides against it.

Harper finally bothers to circle back around to her, and she tilts her head and makes the pouty face that always gets Abby right under the collarbone. "Are you having the most terrible time?"

Abby thinks back to her evening with Riley, the throbbing pop music giving her a headache right, and tells Harper she's going to go home.

Harper doesn't seem at all cut up about this, and Abby tries not to let it bother her. She's starting to feel more and more distant from Harper. She slumps against the window in the taxi and resists the urge to text her and ask when she'll be home.

At the Caldwell's house, she procrastinates by having a shower, refolding her clothes, moisturizing. Harper still hasn't texted her back. She gives in and texts her again. It's pathetic, but she wants to see Harper before she goes to sleep.

Finally, she gives up, texts _Good night_ , and rolls over to pretend to sleep.


	2. blame it on christmas, why I'm out of control

After Harper tells her she's being suffocated, Abby cries for almost a minute, trying to muffle it, then stands up with purpose. She's getting out of here. She is _not_ going to let Harper do this to her anymore.

But when she puts her address into the taxi app, there's surge pricing, and it's more than a thousand dollars. _Shit_. It's not like she can ask Harper to spot her. She deflates, tears threatening again.

_John_ appears on her phone screen and the soft buzz in her hands nets an almost Pavlovian response as she automatically swipes up to answer the call.

"Hey," she manages.

John apologizes, and Abby's grateful for that. Still, it's more pressing to get this whole shitshow off her chest and get the patented John reality check. "Well, let's see," she begins, voice heavy with sarcasm before she launches into an acidic summary of her last two days. "I know this isn't about me, I just feel crazy, like‐ Do I stick it out for two days? I- What would you do?" And what a fucking joke, asking _John_ for romantic advice. John, who puts trackers on his Grindr hook-ups. John, who thinks marriage is more like shopping for kitchen appliances than… just being in love with your _person_.

And of course, he doesn't come through for her, just hangs up on her, in fact. She takes a deep breath. She needs to get out of here. She needs to talk to someone who doesn't think she's crazy, or a criminal, or _heterosexual_.

"Hey, um. Hey, it's Abby." She can't believe she's calling her girlfriend's ex for, like, an emotional booty call, or whatever, but. Here they are. "Are you doing anything right now?"

And Riley doesn't ask questions, doesn't pry, doesn't even mention Harper's name. She just says she'll be there in less than twenty minutes. Riley hesitates before she ends the call, and Abby feels like she wants to say something, but she doesn't, and the moment passes. "See you," she says.

"Bye," Abby responds.

She sits on the bed and taps listlessly at level 373 of Candy Crush until Riley texts her that she's at the end of the drive.

Somehow she makes it out of the house without being seen, which is a blessing. God forbid she get roped into another round of _Caldwell Family Christmas Instagram 2019_. Or worse, asked to babysit again.

Riley is playing early 2000s Tegan and Sara – the soundtrack to Abby's teenage years – and bopping her head along when Abby knocks softly on the window. Riley waves, so Abby opens the door and slides into the passenger seat, head ducked low like it's a getaway car.

Well. It is. In some sense of the word.

She pulls the door harder than intended and it slams shut with a bang. Abby jumps, then puffs out a sigh.

"Another fun day at Santa's grotto?" Riley restarts the ignition and pulls away from the Caldwells' house with much haste.

"I mean-" Oh, god, Abby really doesn't want to do this. It's all kinds of trashy, but yikes, she needs to purge it. "Harper just-" _Ugh_. No way. She takes a halting breath. "Did you know Connor in high school?" She changes tacks quickly.

Riley frowns. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. Connor O'Connor-"

"You're fucking with me," Abby snorts. "No way did he get through high school with a name like that."

Riley allows herself a smirk. "You'd be surprised. All-American footballer, Mom on the PTA, Dad a local politician, straight A's. Superbly, impeccably straight. _Blech._ " Abby sees the speedometer ticking up as Riley's foot presses subtly harder on the accelerator.

A colossal pressure uncuffs her sternum as the Caldwells' driveway fades in the distance behind them.

"That was weird. Sorry," Abby says. She fumbles for something else to say. "Uh, you're studying at John Hopkins?" She kicks herself – what a banal change of topic – but Riley seizes it with both hands.

"Residency," Riley says. "Not studying, not anymore. I specialize in dermatology. That's why everyone and their aunt wants me to look at their _weird spots_."

"Oh," Abby says. "You know, I've actually been having this problem…" Riley taps on the brakes and flicks her indicator on for a side street off the main road, while Abby fishes for a ridiculous medical problem to make her laugh. "Every time I'm in a room with Sloane, my skin just starts… breaking out in pustulous boils. It's gonna be a real bummer at the White Elephant tonight."

Riley laughs. Abby breathes a sigh of relief. Being with Riley, bantering back and forth… it's like she's in a bubble, insulated from all the Caldwell drama. A welcome reprieve.

"Sloane has that effect. She once bullied some poor sophomore out of the school because his school shorts were a size too small," Riley says. She's concentrating on parallel parking and isn't looking at Abby, but Abby winces anyway.

"Jesus," she mutters. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Riley snickers. "Tipper's something else. I'm not even convinced she's human. She's looked the same since senior year of high school."

" _Yikes_ ," Abby says with feeling. 

Riley's tongue pokes between her teeth as she swirls the wheel hard and settles them in between a snow-covered SUV and a crappy 2000s Toyota Corolla.

"Smooth," Abby says, impressed.

Riley grins. "That's what my patients say, too."

Abby rolls her eyes. Riley switches off the car, turning to face her. "Okay. If you feel the urge to steal anything, give me the signal. I'll cover the exits for you." Abby blinks at her, still half-unable to tell if she's serious. Riley cracks her easy grin again. "I'm kidding. I promise there will be no robberies, attempted, fake, or otherwise, on my watch. Do you know what you're going to get?"

Abby half-smiles. "You gotta help me out here, I have _no_ idea what will pass the Tipper Test. _Trademark_ ," she jokes.

Riley unbuckles her seatbelt with a flourish. "It's time for me to introduce you to the wonderful world of the affluent small-town shopping experience."

They get out of the car and Abby, with her hands firmly planted in her pockets as usual, nearly slips over straight onto the sleety ground. Riley catches her under the elbow without pausing. Abby's breath catches at the supportive touch, but the moment she's steady upon the pavement, Riley's hand is gone, occupied with buttoning up her coat against the winter chill. 

Riley's half-quirked smile, ironic, sympathetic, _real_ , pulls a glow of heat into Abby's cheeks. Riley looks down, then speeds ahead of Abby, diving into a story about an encounter with one of the elderly busybodies at the last White Elephant party. Abby tries to keep up with both the tale and Riley's confident pace on the icy pavement as she leads them towards the main street. They round the corner onto Main Street to see a series of shops decorated in Christmas lights and tinsel.

The sight of so many expensive gifts in so many carefully-decorated windows makes her stomach churn with nerves again, but Riley quickly puts her at ease. "All you need to know about the Caldwells and extended family is: they will go nuts for niche kitchen gadgets."

Abby shakes her head, breaking a smile. "You're telling me they don't all have personal chefs?"

Riley just laughs, pointing into a shop that sells everything from kitsch chicken decorations to hand-painted eggcups to mugs with Papyrus-font labels reading _hand-thrown by our members: proceeds to Good Shepherd Elementary School PTA_.

"This will have something that'll do," Riley says.

They peruse inside for a while. Abby's getting increasingly antsy: everything is either too expensive, too oddly specific, or both.

Riley finally stops Abby's back-and-forthing about what to get by plonking a mini doughnut factory with a sale tag onto the counter. "We'll take this," she says firmly to the cashier, quirking an eyebrow at Abby to confirm that that's okay.

Glad to have the decision taken out of her hands, Abby flips the price tag over – 60% off, well within her price range – and nods. "Thank you," she says, half to the cashier and half to Riley.

"This for the Caldwell's White Elephant?" the cashier asks as she taps on the computer screen to ring up the purchase.

"Yeah," Riley says.

"I'll gift wrap it for you, then." Is Abby going crazy, or can she detect a hint of jealousy in the clerk's voice? Who on God's green earth is _jealous_ of the dysfunctional dynamic that suffuses every interaction with a Caldwell?

Riley taps her fingers rapidly on the counter, an anxious tic. She smiles tightly at Abby, eyebrows quirking slightly at the cashier, so Abby thinks she might _not_ be crazy.

Abby takes the bag. "Thank you," she calls as they leave. She peers down at the gift once again as she pushes out the door. "Okay, but who's really gonna want a _mini donut factory_?" she asks Riley.

Riley snorts. "Uh, this family. I saw two of their cousins get in a fistfight over a quesadilla maker at this party once."

_What_ has Abby gotten herself into? She lets out a puff of nervous laughter at Riley's face. " _Yikes_ ," she says, reaching into her pocket as she feels her cellphone vibrate a split second before it chimes.

**Harper:** _Hey, I'm really sorry about earlier. Can we talk after the party? I love you._

Abby's heart takes a nosedive into her midriff. At least Harper didn't try to justify it via text. That would've made Abby mad. Or, madder, she supposes; she's already pretty pissed off.

She can feel Riley's eyes on her phone screen – Abby's subconsciously tilting it towards her, seeking a second opinion, a reality check.

"Everything okay?" Riley says. The woman is far too astute for her own good.

"Yeah," Abby sighs. Riley pauses, hands in her pockets, to wait for Abby. She's stopped short outside a café without even noticing.

She quickly taps out a response: _Yes, we can talk. Love you too_.

"C'mon," Riley says softly as Abby repockets her phone. "Let me tell you about the time someone set the tree on fire trying to prove they could make the best crème brûlée."

Abby shakes her head, resolving herself to enjoying this rare moment of joy, rather than worrying at the Harper problem even more. "This I have _got_ to hear," she says.

Riley begins talking, outlining the beginning of the story, one hand making a whisk gesture and the other resting softly on Abby's shoulder for a split second.

Abby ducks her head, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her at the touch.

Riley's hand flickers away as she mimes lighting a Christmas ornament with a blowtorch, snorting unbecomingly. Abby's phone chimes and her hand automatically dives into her pocket, and she watches Riley's attention follow.

Riley hesitates a half-step as she relates the desperate hunt for a fire extinguisher because Tipper had hidden it in the interests of _Christmas cheer._

Instead of pulling out her phone to read Harper's text, Abby simply flicks the switch to silence her phone and turns her full attention back to Riley, laughing as she explains the dildo-shaped experimental sculpture that Jane made last year.

The bubble bursts when Riley drops her at the end of the drive, saying that she shouldn't come in before the party's started.

"Thank you," Abby tells her, standing an awkwardly appropriate distance from the car. She tries to inject her voice with the gratitude she feels towards Riley for letting her escape this toxic hellhole, even for a few hours.

"Any time," Riley says, waving as she lets the clutch out and speeds away.

Abby turns towards the house, tilting her chin up in a gesture of defiance for her audience of none.

She takes her time walking up the driveway, steeling herself for the inevitable shitshow.

And it is a shitshow.

The second she steps in the door, carrying her gift, trying to project _cheerful_ and _presentable_ and _amenable_ , Tipper jumps down her throat. All Abby does is ask where she should put that _fucking_ donut machine. Tipper near-yells, "I don't know. In the oven?" She tosses her hands up in exasperation. "Jesus, Abby, where do you think it goes? Under the damn tree!"

Abby ducks her head, obligingly reaching to slot it under the lower branches of the (heavily, and impressively) decorated tree. Before she can complete this task and get the hell out of there, Tipper sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You probably never even had a Christmas tree." Abby has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Yeah, yeah, they're all sad that she's an orphan. With parents like Tipper and Ted, who needs a full house of happy family?

Tipper sighs _again._ "We do this party every year, and every year, no matter how early I start planning, I just feel totally unprepared."

Abby tries to look sympathetic, she really does, despite feeling less than an ounce of sympathy for Tipper's party-planning malaise. Apparently, it comes out guilty instead, because the next thing she knows, Tipper's accusing her of stealing her brooch. As if Abby wants her crusty, old, undoubtedly ex-Confederate brooch.

"Have you seen it? You can tell me. I won't be mad," Tipper smiles like she's a co-conspirator, and Abby's heart dives right down into her shoes. She restrains herself from rolling her eyes, opening her mouth to correct Tipper. As she draws a breath, she realizes that _anything_ she says will sound like a guilty conscience, so she shuts it and listens to Tipper's accusations. "I just want to know it's safe," she says.

"I haven't seen it." She nods firmly.

"Okay." Tipper looks like she 100% does _not_ believe that. Well, she can suck Abby's thieving dick. Abby tightens her jaw to prevent herself from saying anything she'd regret. "Well, if it should _magically_ appear on my dresser, there will be no questions asked."

"Okay," Abby agrees dully.

"Okay," Tipper says, whirling away, presumably to chastise yet another member of the catering staff. Abby settles the neatly-packaged donut maker under the Christmas tree. Ted is sitting on the couch, lost in his own world – probably a fantasy about winning the mayoral race, Abby reflects.

She hesitates in the doorway. So far, she's failed utterly at making a good impression; after everything, she still wants Ted to think well of her. She _is_ planning to ask him for his blessing for their marriage.

"Um..." she swallows. "Hey, Ted." She shuffles her feet. "I just wanted to mention, everything that happened yesterday was a _complete_ misunderstanding. You know, I would never, ever‐"

Ted cuts her off with a hand. "You don't‐ You don't have to explain," he says. "Let's just avoid any further incidents, yes?"

Abby still can't help feeling she's done something wrong. "Yeah. Yes," she corrects herself. Absolutely. No further "incidents". She's saved from having to clumsily extricate herself from the conversation by Jane.

Harper's erstwhile elder sister opens the door, wielding what Abby assumes from Riley's earlier stories must be some huge experimental painting, wrapped in shiny red and gold paper, a little bow gracing the corner. "Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas Eve!" she announces. Ted appears to age fifteen years as he sights the gift, not to mention Jane's attire. Abby suppresses a smile. "Look at what this little elf brought in," Jane says brightly.

"Wow. What _is_ that?" Abby's eyebrows hit her hairline.

"This is my masterpiece. Whoever picks it is going to be very pleased!"

Ted dismisses Jane's enthusiasm with a cutting request to fix the printer, and Jane, ever a source of patience and good cheer, obliges.

Abby decides then and there that she likes Ted even less than she likes Tipper. Considering this whole party a lost affair, she turns to retreat downstairs until she's absolutely forced to come back up, for politeness' sake.

Naturally, this plan is immediately foiled by Harper's appearance. Harper's make-up is perfectly done, and she looks absolutely stunning in a chaste green turtleneck and matching A-line skirt. Of course. Good Christian girls, and all that. Abby nearly swallows her tongue.

"Hey," Harper says, eyes searching over Abby's face. Abby tries to maintain a neutral expression.

"Hey," she responds, smiling tightly. A peace offering. It's not the time to hash it out.

"What'd you do today?" Abby can detect a note of minor irritation in Harper's voice. That's rich, coming from her.

"I just went and got a White Elephant gift." She gestures to the tree.

"Oh." Harper tilts her head. "In town?"

Does Harper _know_ she was with Riley? Is that why she's being weird? That is _so_ none of her business, since she's left Abby to fend for herself in this tiny shithole of a town with no car and no friends. "Yeah." Abby ducks her head, looking at the impeccably vacuumed carpet.

"How'd you get there?" Harper's accusing her of _something_ , Abby knows from the little twist in her mouth.

Abby starts to respond, but before she can explain that Riley picked her up, Tipper trots down the corridor, waving that fucking iPad around. She's looking for Jane, and she's looking for Sloane _right now_ , and the children certainly _cannot_ be allowed to miss out. Abby shoves her hands in her pockets, points down the hall, and lets it happen around her rather than have this conversation in front of Tipper.

"Harper, come with me," Tipper commands, and Abby loses her chance to talk to Harper at all. Harper trots off with barely an apologetic glance back to soothe Abby's soul.

Riley presses harder than she needs to on the accelerator. The car revs aggressively for a few seconds until she calms down and lets it off.

That _fucking_ family. Abby's sweet – cheerful and eager to please even after the way they've treated her like absolute shit – and Riley's nearly spitting tacks that Harper's doing this. Again.

She twirls the radio dial until she hits calming classical music. She drives deliberately slowly back home, trying not to think about Harper, or the Caldwells, or high school.

"Hi, sweetie!" When she goes into the bathroom to wash her hands – doctor's habits die hard – her mom is putting the finishing touches on her updo.

"Hi, mom."

"What's wrong?" Her mom tilts her head in the mirror, spitting an open bobby pin into her hand and sliding it into place.

Riley shakes her head. As well-meaning as her mom is, she can't out Abby and Harper right now. Her parents are notorious chatterboxes; not cruel or gossip-mongering, just of the talk-before-you-think variety. "Nothing. Well, just looking forward to the White Elephant party," she corrects herself before her mom can press her further. "I better go get dressed."

She flicks through her closet. She could've sworn she put aside a cream blouse for tonight. Sighing, she gets down on her knees to flick through her suitcase.

No luck. Nothing in her suitcase could be considered _light_ – the clothes range in hue from _charcoal_ to _obsidian_. She sits back on her heels, huffing in frustration. Her eyes fall upon on a storage box on the shelves lining the closet; it's labelled in her neat, pre-medical-school handwriting: _Yearbooks_.

Why not? She's already been picking at all her old high school wounds, hanging out with Abby. Attending all the Caldwell events. Last night, she'd even done a half-hour stint stalking Harper's Instagram on the toilet – mainly looking for pictures of Abby, as much as she wanted to deny it. That had come to an abrupt halt when she'd dropped her phone and nearly liked a post from 2014.

She slides her fingers around the cool cardboard and draws the box out, settling it on top of the suitcase. It's a bad idea, she _knows_. She opens the lid anyway, flicking open the top book. It's 2005, her junior year. The yearbook bears few signatures, but more troubling – and yeah, she's definitely looking for trouble – is the sheaf of letters that spill from the pages: Harper's high school love notes.

She was a sweet touch even then, a real romantic (all in the private, dark confines of Riley's childhood bedroom, of course). The notes are all signed _love, h._ She wasn't very creative. Riley thumbs through the pages, phrases jumping out at her. She doesn't _really_ want to know, but… it's some kind of sweet torture.

_I wish I could hold your hand._

_English was unbearable without you today, R._

The banalities of teenage life.

Riley sighs. She's not remotely ready for whatever lies ahead tonight, because she has a feeling that whatever drama got Abby into her cagey mood today remains unresolved. But she's got tomorrow to look forward to, at least. Her dad has a spectacular present for her mom, and she's going to be thrilled–

Speak of the devil. Her dad knocks on the door lightly.

"Do you want to drive separately so you can sneak out at the earliest opportunity?" He grins. "I hear Tipper has a bartender all the way from _New York_."

Riley forces a laugh, dropping the notes back into the box. There's no need to be sad about teenage Harper when adult Harper is back and worse than ever.

"Yeah; last year I had to play _melanoma or mole_ with the forty-plus crowd for three hours." She rolls her eyes, pulling out a black blouse that will do the job instead of the one she'd been searching for.

Her dad snorts at that. "Nice top, hon. We're going to head over in about ten, alright?"

She nods, squashing the lid down on top of the yearbooks and notes, consigning them to their deserved oblivion. "See you on the flip side, Papa." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm going to finish this, I've just been super busy with Real Life!   
> Thanks to [resurrecho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrecho/pseuds/resurrecho) for betaing!   
> Also check out my TERRIBLE and VERY tongue-in-cheek Abby and Harper vid: [Bad Liar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509444).


	3. blame it on decked halls (not on me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are now leaving the beaten track of canon in favour of Aubrey Plaza's BDE (Big Dyke Energy). Enjoy xoxo

Abby emerges at seven on the dot, just as the other guests also begin arriving. In a fit of pique, she'd donned an outfit that would've conceivably looked at home on a T.a.T.u album cover. Tipper doesn't even notice, and at this point, Abby can't tell if it's because she thought Tara and Willow were _just really good friends_ or if it's a sign of exactly how stressed she is.

She settles herself next to the bar and accepts the glass of dark alcohol that the bartender hands her without questioning it. A quick sip, and she regrets that. She needs to be drunk, but not _that_ much. It tastes like a goddamn Christmas cake.

The opening bars of _Silent Night_ make her quickly reconsider that decision, and she takes several gulps in quick succession.

That's when Riley slides in next to her, eyes widened at the façade playing out in front of them. Abby tries not to look at her in _that_ outfit longer than absolutely appropriate. Instead, she fixes her eyes back on the Caldwell situation, trying not to swallow her tongue for the second time in as many hours.

Riley takes one look at Abby's drink and says wryly, "What are you drinking?"

Abby's a little more transfixed by the layers of apparently-happy Caldwells dotted about the room than she really should be. She swallows down memories of Christmas carolling with her parents and grimaces. "Oh, it's a spiced…" she blanks, rolling her eyes at the glass. "Alcohol."

"Gross, can I have some?"

Something's going on with Abby – more than whatever was wrong this afternoon. The dark eyeliner can't hide – or maybe deliberately emphasizes – the dark bags under her eyes, and she's a million miles away, staring at Sloane's two (frankly, demonic) children piping out _Silent Night_.

Riley looks up and meets Harper's eye as she sips from her girlfriend's glass of alcohol, and Harper resolutely looks away. Petty, maybe, but Riley wants Harper to know what's at stake here if she keeps being such an idiot.

Riley can't manage the "spiced alcohol" – it is truly disgusting – and quickly sacrifices it in favour of nicking a candy cane off the Caldwells' confection of a tree. Once the kids are done singing and the Caldwells are busy cooing over the saccharine duo, Riley drags Abby to a seat facing the tree.

Abby almost hits the ground butt-first as she stares at Harper instead of where she's sitting down. Riley catches her under the elbow and readjusts her before she hits the floor. Abby spares her a distracted apology, then goes back to trying to telepathically drill into Harper's psyche.

Riley sucks at her candy cane aggressively for a few seconds. It's in no-one's best interests for Abby and Harper to have a fight here, and it's definitely in Riley's best interests to make Abby a little less morose. She springs into the story of how her dad, dressed as Santa, found her making out with her friend from swim camp on the roof on Christmas Eve 2005.

"… my parents were so attached to me believing in Santa Claus, that even after years go by, and I stopped believing in Santa Claus, and they _knew_ that I stopped believing in Santa Claus, we just kept that charade going. Their investment in it just made me feel so bad for them, you know?"

Riley has her doubts that Abby even hears what she's saying. Her only response is a muffled "mm-hmm," as she swirls the spiced alcohol in her glass for the fiftieth time.

Riley raises an eyebrow. "Like, so bad for them that... you know, that I eventually… just… murdered them."

She'd be lying if she didn't feel a thrill of jealousy when Abby just says, "That sounds fun," gulping down more alcohol and grimacing at the taste. She's _really_ out of it.

"Okay." Riley leans forward, laying a hand on Abby's knee to try and bring her back from whatever destructive thought-spiral she's going down. "What… is happening?"

Abby heaves a sigh as she watches Harper greet Connor with all the enthusiasm of compulsory heterosexuality. "I don't know." Her mouth works like she's trying to find the words. "Yesterday, I'd never felt closer to another person in my entire life, and now I... I don't know her. And I thought she loved me and was happy, but I see her here, and she's so terrified of what everyone thinks, and it's just making me wonder… who the real Harper is, you know?"

Oh, and Riley does know. She knows Harper fucking Caldwell's mind games _all_ too well. She keeps that bitterness to herself, though. "Well, maybe they both are." It's the most diplomatic response she can manage because she sure as shit doesn't want to make Abby feel worse.

That said, it amazes her that after the past few days, Abby's still mostly concerned with Harper and her feelings and thoughts. Riley sighs. She needs to be careful. If she gets much drunker, she might tell Harper exactly where she can shove that mini donut maker for the way she's treated Abby over the past few days.

Abby nods, and if any nod could be described as _sarcastic_ , it's that one.

"I was gonna ask her to marry me tomorrow," she says heavily, and Riley closes her eyes. What a fucked-up situation. Harper is an idiot. A moron. A grade-A a-hole.

Abby is such a sweetheart.

"Um…" At a loss for words, Riley pats her on the shoulder. "I'm gonna get you a real drink."

Abby stares at the drink in her hand. She would've felt less alone if she'd stayed in Pittsburgh and eaten takeout by herself in the Yangs' apartment.

She misses Pittsburgh. She misses certainty. She misses-

Oh. Never mind. She doesn't miss John because… he's here. In the Caldwells' _house_. On Christmas Eve.

She hurries over to him before Tipper can descend. "Um... _How_ are you here?"

"When are you gonna get this? I. Have. Been. Tracking. You."

Before Abby can get any further questions in – like, _what the fuck, dude_? – Tipper appears like a malignant, regal ghost of Christmas present.

"I'm Tipper. This is my home. Are you the ex‐boyfriend?" She casts a glance at Abby, who remembers in a hot flush of clarity telling Tipper and Jane that she'd _recently gone through a breakup._ With a milkman. _Jesus_ , she's losing her mind. Lost it already, maybe.

John is staring at her in gay panic, and Abby would find it funny that Tipper couldn't identify two prime examples of homosexuality right in front of her face – if the stakes weren't so high. She nods minutely at John, eyes wide.

He coughs to cover his laugh, and says in a voice Abby has never heard from him before, "Yes. I am John, Abby's _heterosexual_ ex‐boyfriend-" Abby cuts a glare at him, smiling tightly in Tipper's general vicinity. "I have come to get her back."

"Mm. I see," Tipper says in a glacial tone. "Well, it would've been nice to have known you were coming, but since you are here, _enjoy_." She sounds about as welcoming as a DMV clerk.

"Thank you so much," John manages.

She swans away with all the self-assurance of inherited wealth.

"Okay, I nailed that, and she is fabulous." John flicks a hand to emphasize his fascination with her whole deal.

Abby frowns. That still doesn't answer the question: " _What_ are you _doing_ here?"

"Um, that phone call earlier was a cry for help. I'm here to rescue you. Please get your things." He looks around like a prey animal in a pack of wolves.

Abby's deciding whether she's had it up to _here_ with people trying to tell her what to do, or grateful for the eleventh-hour ride to safety, when John intervenes, turning deliberately towards the sitting room. Abby follows his gaze automatically. "Is that the ex‐boyfriend?"

Connor. Connor, Connor, _Connor_. Harper flirting with Connor: the classic Harper arm-touch, giggle, leaning in like she's-oh-so-fascinated. All the little Harper things that made Abby fall in love with her in the first place.

Abby's heart stills. Free-falls.

"I mean, I guess he's handsome, uh…" John's _such_ a fucking frat boy. Abby's anger morphs, crystalizing into absolute certainty. She barely hears John saying, "Can we please go?" as she walks deliberately across the room.

Interrupting them is unspeakably rude and _Not Done_ in the Caldwell household, but Abby doesn't care anymore.

John's right. It's time to go.

"Harper. It's over. I'm done."

Harper doesn't even move. Abby hesitates for a second, heart whiplashing back to her throat, but Harper doesn't move a goddamned muscle.

Fine.

She goes to pack her things, offering John a minute shake _no_ when he cocks his head to ask _should I come_?

Her hands are shaking as she gathers up her duffel bag and thrusts an armful of dirty laundry into it. She can hear too-tight heels clattering down the stairs, and although she'd like to pretend it's just John, or Riley, or even _fucking_ Sloane, she knows it's Harper.

Harper, her now-ex girlfriend.

"Abby. Hey. Can we just talk for a second?" Harper's voice shakes.

"No. I've gotta go. I‐ I can't‐ I can't do this for you anymore. But, uh, merry Christmas. Enjoy your family, and enjoy _Connor_." Low blow. She should probably just leave.

"What? _What_? No, I don't‐ I don't want him. I don't want Connor. I want you."

The words still Abby for a moment. She wants so hard to believe them, it actually hurts, like a fracture in her collarbone. But she thinks about everything that's happened today and shakes her head. "Then what _was_ that?"

"I don't _know_." And that's what it comes down to. She doesn't have a reason, not one beyond _it's expected of me._ "Why are _you_ huddled in a corner with _Riley_?" she flings back at Abby, and Abby flinches.

"None of this has anything to do with Riley! This is all happening because of _you_ , Harper. You not telling your parents about us is a choice that _you_ made."

"It is not that simple," Harper protests, but it is. There were so many things Harper could've done differently, and she fucked up every single one of them. There was absolutely no reason for her to invite Abby for Christmas. Even less not to warn her about this family, this whole fucked up situation. She could've intervened with them even once, and Abby would feel so much less alone.

"Do you know how painful it's been to watch the person that I love choose to hide me?" she snaps.

"I am not hiding you. I am hiding me, okay? Our entire life, we have been expected to be these perfect, golden children. I mean, love in our house wasn't something we just got for free. It is something that we competed for, and if we veered off their course, we lost it. I‐ I know it's messed up, okay? I get it. But they're my parents, and I am scared that if I tell them who I really am, I will lose them. And I know, if I don't tell them, I will lose you. I don't wanna lose you." Harper's crying, trembling all over.

Abby's heart breaks for her, and she can feel herself tearing up. "Hey, come here. Come here."

"No, I don't want to lose you." Harper's fighting her, pushing her away. Abby leans into it, putting her hands on Harper's face, forcing her to look her in the eye.

"No, no. Look at me. Come here. Look at me. It's okay."

"I don't‐" Harper chokes out, crying.

"Hey, stop," Abby says gently, pulling her into a hug. Her girlfriend is still shaking, shuddering in her arms.

"I don't want to lose you," she protests one last time.

"You're not." Abby tries to pull away, look her in the eye and reassure her that they're going to be okay. Harper clings to her until Abby has to untangle her arms just to get a little bit of distance. She leans in to kiss Abby, hands cupping her face. Abby closes her eyes. This is her Harper.

She barely even registers the footsteps.

"Matilda and Magnus? Kids?" It breaks through their reverie.

Caught red-handed. Abby sees the cogs turning in Sloane's head, and sees where this is going.

Nowhere good, that's for damn sure.

"Sloane, Sloane, Sloane!" Harper chases her sister, and Abby follows, at a loose end. Why is this whole family is _obsessed_ with figure-hugging dresses when they seem hell-bent on tackling each other at every opportunity?

"Hmm? Yeah?"

"Can we just talk for a sec?"

"Oh, what's there to talk about? You and Abby are in a romantic relationship, and you've been lying to the family about it for God knows how long. Does that sound about right, or‐" Shit's about to hit the fan in a major way, Abby realizes. More out of morbid curiosity than any sense of obligation, Abby follows Harper and Sloane as Harper begs her not to tell their parents. She wishes there was some way to sneak out the back and just miss this whole next bit, because she can't imagine it going well no matter what happens.

A clattering to their right startles Abby, and Sloane whirls around. "Found you!" she says, flinging open the closet door.

_Oh_ is about right. Sloane's husband is engaged in a furious make-out session with… Ted's campaign manager? Abby's a fair few glasses of alcohol in and she's finding it hard to keep track of names at this point.

"I guess I'm not the only one with a secret," Harper says, looking innocently at Sloane. Great! Maybe they can all just keep their family drama under wraps for two more days and then get the hell out of Kuwait.

Of course, no such luck. Sloane, shrieking at the pitch _absolute mayhem,_ knocks Harper to the ground.

"You keep your mouth shut, _psycho_!" she hisses, wrapping a string of mistletoe-themed tinsel around Harper's neck and yanking her backwards like a deranged reindeer.

"Abby, get the Santa," Harper gasps, arching away from Sloane.

"I mean‐" Abby does _not_ want to be involved in this, but she'd better back Harper up. She steps forward.

"Stay out of this, Sappho!" Sloane hisses, grappling with Harper's hair. Abby would find that _hilarious_ in absolutely any other context. Still, right now she's worried that Sloane might actually strangle Harper.

Riley comes back from the bar with two glasses of whiskey on the rocks. She couldn't avoid the festively carved crystal glasses, but you can't win 'em all.

She stops where Abby had been sitting and scans the room. She's entangled in a three-way conversation with Tipper and an obviously gay man. Yeah, nah, Riley's not self-destructive enough to try and insert herself into _that_. She slips back around the corner, leaning against the wall opposite the bar. She stares into the dark whiskey and takes another sip.

Some sixth sense makes her turn around to the living room just in time to witness Abby striding across the room and shattering Harper's whole world.

"Harper. It's over. I'm done."

Oh, _shit_. She flattens herself against the wall as Abby storms past her. She counts a full thirty seconds before Harper rushes after her. Just as Riley is debating following them, Tipper swans past her into the main room. "Everybody, please take your seats. We're ready to begin White Elephant!"

Riley's mom comes up beside her, jogging her elbow. "Come on, honey, let's get some good seats." Her eyes are sparkling with held-back mirth about the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Riley must look shell-shocked, because her mom pauses. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She shakes her head, putting down one of the glasses of whiskey and following her mom into the living room. She's almost apoplectic with curiosity about Abby, but there's no polite way to extricate herself now. Instead, she listens for the sounds of crying, screaming, or running away. There aren't that many exits in this house, so unless Abby legs it out of a window, she'll have to go through the front door.

Her active listening is rewarded about five minutes later when a _thump_ echoes from the back rooms. No one else seems to notice, but in Riley's inexpert opinion, it sounds like a full body hitting the floor. As she's contemplating slipping out to witness the drama, she catches sight of… Ted's campaign manager? The woman jerks her head at the smooth-skinned, gay, assistant, and they both practically bolt via the aforementioned front door.

Riley cannot parse _that_ , but files it away for future reference. Jane is _eeny-meeny-miny-mo_ -ing over the presents and Tipper is about to blow a gasket — god, this family is so dramatic — when a hard _bang_ startles all of them. Even Riley's dad jumps, leaning forward to peer at the bar in confusion.

When nothing further transpires, everyone's attention turns back to the rich lady who's chosen a huge parcel. Riley covers a snort by pretending to cough when Rich Lady opens it to find a Jane Caldwell original. Jane has always been a personal highlight of the Caldwells for Riley.

She's pretty sure she can hear high-pitched arguing in the dining room, but no one else is looking, so she strains her ears to listen for Abby's voice.

Harper and Sloane burst into the living room, Harper looking frantically out-of-control while Sloane wields a festive brush with a threatening scowl.

Abby appears by the front door, hands slung low in her pockets like they always are, and the apprehension on her face twists Riley's stomach.

"All of this is happening because Harper is-" Harper whacks Sloane in the face with a bouquet, face twisted in anger. The guests collectively gasp. Riley's only got eyes for Abby, though. Her face is nearly blank, a good closet case if Riley's ever seen one.

Sloane tosses her hair neatly, drawing herself up, taking the moral high ground, gathering everyone's attention with the precision of a sharpshooter. "Harper's a lesbian." The accusation settles in the air between them, and Riley wonders what Harper's going to do now. "Abby's her girlfriend," Sloane adds, pursing her lips and flicking a glance at the doorway where Abby stands. Riley wants to go to her, shield her somehow, but everyone's frozen in this nightmare nativity scene.

There's a suspended silence. _Come on, Harper_ , Riley prays. _You can do it._

"She is _lying_ ," Harper gasps out, and Riley can almost hear Abby's heart crashing right into the floor. She looks shell-shocked, sucker-punched, disbelieving.

"I am not a _lesbian_ ," and the way Harper says it like it's a dirty word kicks Riley in the chest, takes her right back to high school, and she's sure it has the same effect on Abby. "Sloane is the one that has this big-"

Harper's panting with anger and exertion, and Riley sees the second she catches sight of Abby's slumped shoulders, the realization that she's fucked up.

Abby does the right thing, at least by Riley's standards. She shakes her head and ducks out, refraining from slamming the door, which is more than Riley would've done.

There's a moment where the shockwaves ripple across the room, and time stops. Riley shakes her head too. The cogs are turning in Connor's head, and John turns and disappears into the kitchen, and Tipper and Ted are gaping, and Jane… well, Jane looks surprisingly happy. That girl has always been such a delightful mystery to her.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Harper screams, a primal expression of anger that Riley never would've thought possible, given how tightly wound she is. Harper spins, snatching that giant painting, and brings it crashing down on Sloane's perfectly shampoo-ed hair. As tempting as it is to stay and watch this unfold, Riley takes the opportunity to slip out of the room, take the long way round through the hallway, and emerge on the doorstep. She scans the carpark briefly, but Abby's nowhere to be seen.

_WWAD: what would Abby do?_ Riley looks around. God, it's freezing. She pulls her coat tighter around herself and sets off down the drive.

Abby's huddled against a black SUV, furiously wiping tears away.

"Hey," Riley says, standing an appropriate distance away from her. Abby jumps, turning to catch Riley's eye. She deflates when she sees Riley, but doesn't say anything.

Abby looks wrecked. She doesn't really know what to say – doesn't even really know this woman, after all. But she doesn't walk away.

The silence stretches out between them until it's almost uncomfortable. So Riley says the only thing she can think of.

"Wanna get out of here?"

And, yeah, it sounds like a pickup line, but she's not thinking about that right now. Abby nods aggressively, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"I need to get my stuff." Abby gestures towards the house.

"Are you sure? You could probably just buy new clothes." You couldn't pay Riley enough to head back in there.

Abby hesitates, then sighs and nods. "I'm already tapped out from the White Elephant gift," she jokes. Well, Riley hopes she's joking. She's still a student, actually, so maybe not.

"Alright. Your funeral," is what Riley says, trying to inject her voice with the appropriate amount of support. She reaches out to rub Abby's shoulder comfortingly.

Abby doesn't move. She swallows, throat moving, then lets out a brief sigh. "It's just… I…" She dashes a hand across her cheeks again, and Riley is seized by an urge to wipe the tears from her face. She's shockingly beautiful, even when she's falling apart.

She coughs loudly, then starts striding away from the house, hands wrapped around herself, chafing up and down her arms. Riley regrets not bringing her a jacket.

"My parents are dead," she says roughly. Riley realizes that she might be meant to follow her and hurries to catch up. "I really am an orph- I mean, that's not just another part of Harper's fucked-up… thing."

Riley keeps step with her, not sure what to say. Not sure if she _needs_ to say anything, or if she's incidental to Abby's catharsis.

Abby continues on, creating clouds of condensation into the air. "My parents _loved_ Christmas. Like, they were _so_ into it. We used to watch all these old Christmas movies, decorate the tree, the front of the house, the whole thing."

Riley's starting to see where this is going, and it just makes her even angrier at Harper.

"After they died, Christmas was just… I couldn't acknowledge it. I've barely celebrated it for more than a decade. The holidays were- _are_ just a huge reminder of… them not being here." She comes to a halt, turning to Riley, searching her face for something.

"I really thought, maybe this year, with Harper… and her family, you know, might be… different." She twists her face up, sniffling into the cuff of her way-too-light-for-winter-in-NY blazer. "I don't think- I don't think she loves me as much as I thought she did." Abby chokes for a moment, apparently holding more tears at bay through sheer will. "Maybe that's my fault. Maybe I thought she loved me because I wanted her to. Harper, you know, she was the first time I've ever really…" she swallows. "Been that serious about someone. I was gonna ask her to marry me, for fucks sake!"

Riley inhales shallowly. She's in way too deep here. She reaches over, brushing Abby's hair out of the trail of tears on her cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry," she says. "This is _not your fault_." She fumbles for something else to say. "Harper never should have brought you into this. Oh, god." Riley never really got to come out. She doesn't know what to _say_ in this situation. Harper had snatched that away from her, right along with her first heartbreak.

"I just… wish this whole thing had never happened." Abby crosses her arms. She's really shaking now, shivering from head to toe, staring fixedly at the frozen gravel under their feet.

"Here." Riley shrugs off her jacket, the cold air biting into her skin immediately. She steps forward, wrapping it around Abby, holding it there with her hands lightly upon her shoulders. Abby instinctively steps forward, so they're nearly hugging. The energy changes, just a little, and the sad silence turns into something else. Riley is suddenly very, very aware of Abby's shoulders under her hands, and the flicker of Abby's tongue wetting her lips. Riley speaks before she can stop herself. "You look great in this coat." Riley stiffens with her hands still on Abby, realizing that her previous comment might have been taken as flirting. Which she was _definitely_ not doing. "Coming out is really scary," she says instead. "You haven't done anything wrong. Harper just… wasn't ready. Isn't ready."

Abby finally looks her in the eye. "I wanna be with someone who is ready," she whispers, and she steps forward, nearly colliding with Riley. Riley's fingers are experiencing pre-frostbite, but her whole body is suddenly warmed by this inexorable _pull_ towards Abby. The look in Abby's eyes is all too familiar.

She's a bad person, but she wants it too. It all happens very quickly then. Abby tilts her head towards Riley, leaning in, fluttering her eyes closed. This close up, Riley can see the frozen trickle of tears on her cheek, that fucking shirt unbuttoned just one button too low, the soft skin visible there that Riley's been mentally avoiding all evening. She closes her eyes and bends down, one hand going automatically to Abby's waist to pull her closer, the other sliding up to her collar.

They are a hairsbreadth from kissing when an intense, white light washes over them, startling her. Riley pushes herself backwards, heart frog-jumping painfully. As if in slow motion, Abby takes a step back, Riley's jacket falling from her shoulders onto the ground. The SUV that interrupted them races down the drive, spraying gravel and ice behind its rear wheels. Riley winces. Fingers crossed they didn't recognize her.

Riley glances back towards the house, instinctively touching her lips. While they've been in their own little bubble, the guests have started streaming out, getting in various vehicles with their coats either slung over their arm from a hasty exit or at the very least shrugged on.

Abby's strangled groan draws her attention back. "That's… I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that." She picks up Riley's jacket, nearly shoving it at her in her haste to put space between them.

"Don't worry," Riley tells her, trailing her as she walks briskly to the house. "I'll pretend it never happened." She tries to ignore the electricity sparking along every nerve ending in her body.

"Thanks," Abby says roughly, ignoring the curious gazes of several Caldwell relatives as she strides towards the house. Riley follows in her wake, studiously avoiding the enquiring looks she knows are being thrown her way. She's perfectly aware of the muttered assumptions about any time she spends alone with _any_ woman between the age of 20 and 40, let alone Abby, who's just been outed at the most prominent social event of the year.

Abby hesitates at the bottom of the steps to the front door, looking back.

Riley tries on a smile. "Why doesn't Santa have any children?" she says.

Abby blinks, confused. "Why?" she asks.

"Because he only comes once a year, and it's not in your chimney." Riley's relieved when Abby lets out an unladylike snort and her shoulders relax.

"Okay," she huffs. "Let's do this."

Riley follows her inside, tossing her coat over one arm and trying to control her shivering.

"Sorry, I'm just getting my stuff," Abby says. She makes for the basement, apparently trying to avoid the stares of the entire Caldwell family by sheer will alone. Riley envies the rest of the guests, making a hasty escape from the cloying sisterly tension while she stands right smack-bang in the middle of it.

She crosses her arms, feeling weirdly like Abby's emotional bodyguard in this whole mess, observing the unhappy family dynamic unfolding in front of her.

"Wait!" Harper says, voice shattered. She doesn't spare Riley a glance.

Riley sighs inwardly. _This again_.

"Abby, wait." Abby pauses on the threshold to the basement, then backs up, shoving her hands in her pockets in a move that Riley is beginning to recognize as a defense mechanism. She glances up at Harper for a brief second before ducking her head back down to the floor. The frozen tear tracks on her cheeks are starting to melt in the warmth of the house.

Harper gathers herself up, and Riley's seen this all before, the desperate, drowning-man apologies, but she'd be lying if she said Harper's puppy dog eyes didn't get her. Even after all these years.

"Sloane wasn't lying," Harper says shakily. "I'm gay. And I am in love with Abby."

Abby flinches. Harper _fucking_ Caldwell. Still crushing lesbians ten years later.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys sooner, but I know how much appearances and reputation matter to you, and me being gay just didn't… fit into the plan." Harper's voice is trembling, and Riley is surprised to find that she can dredge up a bit of sympathy for her, after everything.

"I was so scared that you would find out I wasn't who you wanted me to be. And I still regret it. I can't do that to Abby… and throw away… our life together. So I am done being scared, and I am done keeping secrets. I love you." She turns to Abby, earnest, and Riley bites her lip. This is a lot, and she probably shouldn't be here.

Abby looks down at the floor, then up at Riley, the suspense dragging on and on.

"Eric and I are getting a divorce!" Sloane breaks the impasse, and Riley heaves a silent sigh of relief. Abby's projecting turmoil so hard she might burst a blood vessel. Riley wants to touch her, to comfort her, but that would be wildly inappropriate given their… encounter… outside.

"I'm gonna go." Abby seizes the opportunity to go down to the basement. Riley's impressed at her outward composure. Harper runs over, ignoring Sloane's monologuing – a classic display of her typical self-obsession – and Riley has to physically restrain herself from stepping protectively in front of Abby.

"Abby…" Harper is pleading now, and it's painful to watch. Riley wraps her arms around herself. "I did it," Harper says, smiling tremulously.

Abby chokes a little bit. "I'm sorry," she says. "It's just too late." She turns and ducks downstairs as fast as she can. Riley steps backwards, unconsciously preparing for a fast getaway. Harper's little self-affected _oh_ is both pathetic and oddly endearing.

Jane walks over, putting an arm around Harper as she begins to sob in earnest, leading her into the kitchen. Sloane remains in the living room, hands clenching and unclenching on a festive wreath until the plastic leaves shear off and flutter to the ground.

Barely a minute passes before Abby re-emerges at the top of the stairs, John in tow with her duffel bag slung over his arm. Before anyone can get a word in, she walks briskly past all of them, thrusting open the door with a bang, and clattering down the stairs.

"That's my cue," Riley says, shoving her hands in her pockets. Sloane glares at her. "Great party," she says, snorting at her own joke, letting the door slam closed behind her.

Abby's in the middle of the drive, looking blankly at John. She shakes her head at him, rubbing a hand over her face in the universal symbol for _tired and over it_. Riley gives a little wave as she gets closer.

She flicks the button on her key fob and the lights flash to indicate that it's unlocked. She calls out to them, just loud enough for them to hear. "You need a ride?"

John looks at Abby, gesturing like Riley's just provided the solution to all of his problems. Abby sort of shrugs at him and Riley can make out the words "Don't forget the fish," as Abby walks backwards towards Riley. John's eyes go comically wide for a second before he makes an exaggerated nod.

Riley's got her doubts about the provenance of that fish.

She opens the door, taking Abby's duffel bag and sliding it into the backseat.

"Where do you wanna go?" Riley asks.

"Anywhere," Abby says, staring out the window. Riley hesitates, at a loss for what to do. There's nowhere else, really, so she starts driving them in the direction of her parent's house.

Riley shows her to the bathroom, and while she showers, Riley makes up a bed for herself on the floor of her childhood bedroom. Abby emerges with her hair damp and tousled, and a brief argument about who should sleep on the floor is settled by Riley plopping herself down and crawling into her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sleeping bag with her fingers stuck in her ears.

All the stuffing has left Abby, and she climbs mutely into Riley's bed, immediately pulling the comforter over her head. Riley can hear her trying to muffle her crying.

Oh, Jesus.

After a particularly gut-wrenching sob, Riley shoves her sleeping bag down to her knees and crawls up onto the bed. She starts by hesitantly putting a hand on what she thinks is Abby's shoulder.

Abby stills under her touch, so Riley pulls the duvet down so she can see Abby's face. Abby rolls away, wiping a hand across her cheek. Riley sighs before she finally untucks the comforter and slides underneath.

Abby turns and buries her face in Riley's shoulder and sobs. She clings like she's adrift, and Riley has no idea what to do. Eventually, she settles on wrapping her arms around Abby and holding her until her crying slows, dying down to sniffles. After a few moments, Riley ascertains that she's fallen asleep, and she's left staring up at the ceiling and contemplating _what_ exactly she's doing spooning her ex's ex to sleep in her childhood bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more observant among you may note that this fic now has TWELVE [planned] chapters! What was meant to be a 5000-word max fix-it fic has morphed into a huge romance novel of a beast, so, uh, buckle up, creampuff?   
> Thank you to [resurrecho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrecho/pseuds/resurrecho) for betaing and reading this chapter like... 6 times. And also for helping me plan the fic, a talent that I have never had and never will. I love you xxx


	4. so many fallen stars, give them back to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have unfortunately run out of lyrics from "Blame It On Christmas" for the chapter titles because there are actually only about four lines in the whole song, so we're moving onto the rest of the Happiest Season soundtrack.

Abby wakes up comfortable for the first time in days. She's in her usual little-spoon position, but it's not quite right. The bedsheets feel different, and it smells unfamiliar. She breathes it in again, and her brain comes fully online.

She _broke up with Harper_.

And she _almost kissed_ Riley.

Breath hitching in her throat, she wriggles herself out from under Riley's arm. Riley protests sleepily, without opening her eyes. Abby sits up against the wall, arms hugging around her knees.

She's in Riley's bed.

She remembers with a hot flush of clarity bawling into Riley's shoulder last night. Not the coolest move. Not even in the vicinity of the coolest move.

Oh, god.

She inhales slowly, deeply, and shifts herself carefully off the bed so she doesn't jostle the mattress and wake Riley up. She needs to rehydrate and get a reality check, stat.

She finds her phone in her jacket pocket. Her first thought is relief that it still has 34% battery, which is enough to call John for a talking-down. Her second is shock: she has thirty-eight missed calls, twenty-one voicemails — her inbox must've crapped out — and twelve texts. From Harper.

Jesus, take a hint.

She paces restlessly in the direction of the door, then stops. She doesn't know Riley's parents at all, and she doesn't want to run into them. It's light outside, so they're probably awake if they're like any of the other parents she's known. She hesitates for a second, then takes her phone into Riley's en suite instead.

She presses the door closed lightly, then perches on the edge of the bath. Drawing a deep breath, she swipes all the Harper notifications away — a problem for later — and calls John.

"It is, like, three in the morning!" he protests

Abby rolls her eyes, trying to stay quiet. "It's light outside; shut up. Did you get home safe last night?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," he says. "More importantly, how are you? Why are you whispering? How's the woman you went home with?"

Abby swallows. "She's, uh… Harper's ex."

"Oh, honey, _yes_."

"It's not _like_ that," Abby protests.

She can hear John's raised eyebrows through the phone. "I'm serious," she protests. "She just, uh, helped me find a White Elephant gift yesterday, and now we're friends, I don't know." She knows it sounds like a flat-out lie when she says it like that, but she can't muster up any enthusiasm to hide it.

"Okay, _sure_ ," John says. He's right to be a skeptic, and they both know it. "Well, when are you coming home?"

All the oxygen leaves Abby's lungs. _Oh_. She can't go home. One night, and her whole life has been washed down to the waterline. "Home? I don't think I have one."

"Oh." John obviously hadn't thought of that. "You can come and stay with me, of course," he adds. Belatedly.

"Thanks," Abby says. She tries, once again, to not sound like her life has crashed down around her and she's watching the dust settle. "You sure it won't cramp your whole, uh, Casanova thing?"

"My door is always open for you, Abby. And if you happen to startle a one-night stand into leaving promptly, I can live with that."

Abby snorts, even managing a watery smile. "I'll see you soon, alright? Take care. And take care of those animals, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm, okay, yup, bye-e." Was it a mistake to leave John in charge of live creatures?

Signs point to yes.

She slumps her head into her hands, sighing.

She should probably get up and get her real person clothes, but… it's Christmas morning, and she's crashed at her ex's ex's place — who she met literally days ago — and she pretty much only owns dirty laundry now. She muffles a groan as she drops her phone next to the sink, bracing herself against the vanity.

She's shocked out of her pity party by just how shit she looks in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, flat hair, several Caldwell-induced zits making an appearance. She rubs a hand over her face, then turns away.

She pushes the door open, quiet enough that Riley doesn't even stir. She's curled on her side, drooling on her pillow, hair in her mouth. The duvet has fallen down around her waist and Abby can see bare skin where her pajama top has ridden up. Her eyes catch on it for a second, then she turns her gaze to the floor, heart pounding unreasonably fast.

She shouldn't find Riley so enticing, not when she can still feel Harper's hands on her waist, Harper holding her when Abby sat on her lap, the brief, necessary touches when they were working side-by-side at the kitchen table.

Waking up with Riley has spawned thoughts of _Riley_ touching her like that – waking up cuddled into her, brief touches to the shoulder, the hip while they're cooking together, holding hands at the movies…

She tries very hard to clamp down on _that_ avenue of thought as she crawls into the ninja turtle sleeping bag. The two turtles at the top line up perfectly with her ribcage; it was made for a child _at least_ two feet shorter than her.

Riley is awoken by a harsh ringing sound – not her usual alarm, something else. She rubs at her eyes, rolling over to look.

Abby is flat on her back halfway in and halfway out of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sleeping bag, one arm across her face. Riley can't tell if she's crying or coma-ed out. The noise doesn't seem to rouse her, so she's probably sleeping, but it's not Riley's ringtone, so she reaches out and jogs Abby's shoulder.

"Huh- What-" Abby jumps, and Riley backs off. "Oh, shit." She crawls out of the sleeping bag, fumbling around on the floor until she comes up with her phone. She holds it with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for roadkill, but the ringing continues. Finally, she clicks the screen to black and sits back on her heels.

Riley can string together a full sentence now, which is a vast improvement from thirty seconds ago. "Everything okay?" she asks. She'd bet good money that that was Harper calling, judging by the half-panicked, half-nauseous look on Abby's face.

"Fuck," Abby swears, not answering the question at all. She clicks the screen on, blue light washing over her face, and then lets the phone drop abruptly, clenching her jaw.

"Oka-ay," Riley says, pushing herself up onto her elbows. "Are you okay?"

Abby picks up her phone again. "Yeah," she says softly. "I'm fine. I just have… thirty-nine missed calls, twenty-one voicemails, and thirteen texts from Harper. Which is fine." Abby runs an agitated hand through her hair, tossing the phone down again, smack-bang on Donatello's nose. Riley winces.

Unsure what to say — the tension in Abby's shoulders could snap a suspension cable — Riley flops back down on the bed as another text appears on the screen. "Clingy, much? Put it on silent and go back to sleep," she advises, eager for at least another two hours herself. She'd been awake for a while after Abby had cried herself out, tossing over everything that'd happened at the party.

The almost-kiss, in particular, has been occupying a lot of her mental real estate.

Abby doesn't respond for a moment, and then shakes her head. "Nah, I should, uh, head home." She props herself up, her fake bravado less than convincing.

Riley's four functioning brain cells spark together and she deduces that it's not as easy as that. "Do you have a car?" she asks, knowing perfectly well that the answer's _no_. She refrains from the second half of the question, which is, _do you have a home_?

"I'll just… get an Uber. It's cool." Abby sucks in another deep breath, twirling a ring on her thumb around and around and around until Riley's getting friction burns just watching her.

"Dude, no." Riley doesn't even think there _is_ Uber here. "Just get some shut-eye and I'll drive you to Pittsburgh later."

"That's like four hours away, man. It's Christmas morning."

Oh, fuck. Riley had conveniently forgotten that. Giving up all hope of sleeping in, she sits up properly. "Alright; change of plans. After I do the family stuff, I can drive you to Pittsburgh, okay?"

Abby frowns. "I can't… Riley, I don't want to take you away from your family. It's Christmas." The angst she clearly feels over this statement is somewhat belied by her suddenly thrashing excessively to get out of the tiny sleeping bag. Riley has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. Once she's sitting upright, she crosses her arms around her legs, hunching over in a defensive position. "Really. I'll call a cab or hire a car or something. Just gotta pack up." Abby says this with finality, and then proceeds to move _not at all_ towards packing up.

Riley tilts her head at this and pauses for a moment. "Abby, you look wrecked. When was the last time you slept for more than four hours?" Jesus Christ. She cares about Abby's _sleeping habits_ now. That's bad. _Play it cool, Riley_. "Once again, it's Christmas morning. Good luck getting a cab or finding a car-hire place open."

"Oh, fuck." Abby runs a hand through her hair, lets out a groan. "I hate Christmas," she bursts out with. "It's… everything always goes wrong."

Riley gets out of bed to kneel in front of Abby. She looks terrible — the lack of makeup shows dark circles under her eyes, the dried tears, and a couple of what Riley assumes are stress-induced pimples.

"Abby," she says, crinkling her eyebrows in what she hopes is a sympathetic expression. "Seriously. You need to get back in this dumbass sleeping bag — actually, no, get into my bed-" she presses her lips together for a second, raising her eyes to the ceiling, contemplating how many times she's going to inadvertently hit on Abby, "-and go the fuck to sleep."

Abby seems to consider this for a moment and then nods. _Whew_.

"Okay," she agrees quietly. She stands up and crawls under the covers of Riley's bed, cocooning herself until Riley can only see her nose and eyes. She heaves a deep sigh, moving the blanket up and down. "Nice sleeping bag," she says, nodding at the ground.

Riley grins. "I was _definitely_ a Raphael." She makes an absolutely ridiculous move that may or may not have been a ninja turtle impression, and Abby looks momentarily delighted.

"You give me more Donatello vibes."

"Way harsh," Riley laughs. Abby's eyes crinkle up at the corners with laughter, and Riley tries not to think about how goddamn cute she is.

The light-hearted bickering is interrupted by Riley's mom. "Girls? Are you coming out?" she calls, presumably just down the hall.

Abby catches Riley's eye at the phrasing, panicked. Riley grins back, calling out to her mom, "In a minute, Ma!"

"How do they know I'm here? Or do you always come home from the White Elephant party with a strange lesbian?" Abby asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Riley throws a sock from the ground at her, rolling her eyes. "The White Elephant party is, naturally, prime pick-up ground for lesbians, but, ah, I warned them this might happen. I don't have a lot of faith where Harper's concerned." She looks away from Abby, hoping this doesn't come across as some kind of fucked-up, premeditated hook-up plan.

Abby lets Riley's blankets fall down around her shoulders and crooks her elbows behind her head to lie back and look at Riley. The image of Abby in her bed suddenly seems a lot less sad and a lot more…

Get your mind _out_ of the gutter, Riley scolds herself.

"I should, uh, come down and say hello to your parents," Abby hedges.

Riley presses her lips together to prevent any emotion from fighting its way onto her face, and shrugs instead. "We can smuggle you out the window if you want… I should warn you that you _will_ be dragged into festive activities downstairs. Not like, Caldwell-level drama, but my parents love Santa. And presents. They may have even dug out the emergency Christmas candle as a gift for you."

Abby looks panicked. "I don't have anything for them. Not even that stupid mini donut hole thingy." She suddenly looks down at herself. "I might just… get dressed. Before I meet your parents. Um."

Riley nods, hand on the doorway. She doesn't miss Abby's unconscious look at her pajamas, matching and monogrammed: classic private school chic. Abby just seems non-plussed by it – she sleeps in a tank top and sweats, after all. "I'm gonna go downstairs and grab some coffee, alright?" Riley tells her.

Abby just nods as she sits up and shoves the duvet off her legs.

"Morning, Ma," Riley says as she enters the kitchen, going straight for the coffee maker.

"Morning, honey," she says, coming up beside her and wrapping her arm around Riley for a brief hug. "Merry Christmas!"

"Yeah, yeah, it's the most wonderful time of the year. Where's Dad?" She puts the portafilter under the grinder and sets it on for a moment. Her non-enthusiasm is a long-standing family joke, and her mom ignores it.

"Out the back." Her mom rolls her eyes, sitting down at the island. "Do you really need it that strong?" she asks as Riley locks the portafilter in and pours a double shot into a **#1 Dad** mug. Riley ignores this statement — her coffee drinking habits have long been a point of contention between her mom, who volunteers on the local PTA, and herself, who works 36-hour shifts as a medical intern. "You did end up bringing that girl home, then?" Riley's mom raises her eyebrows at her expectantly.

Riley scuffs her slipper across the floor. "Uh, yeah. She… didn't have anywhere else to go." She can tell her mom's not exactly pleased about it, the whole _family Christmas_ thing still a sore spot for her, and the gossip mills around here that will already be churning. Better rip the band-aid off then. "I'm going to take her back to Pittsburgh later today."

"On Christmas? Really, Riley? What about Patricia's?" Her mom frowns at her.

Riley sighs. "Mom, you know Patricia doesn't approve of my… _lifestyle choices_." She air-quotes — her Aunt Patricia doesn't like women doing anything that she considers men's work, which encompasses almost all of Riley's main activities, from medical school to fucking other women. "It's safer to drive on Christmas Day anyway; so many people will be driving tomorrow." She empties the filter and fills it again, adding, "And I think Abby needs to get back to pick up her stuff."

Her mom concedes that point, pursing her lips. She saw Harper's outburst last night with the rest of the White Elephant party, so it's no use pretending Abby and Harper didn't just break up. _And_ Riley's mom has always told her how proud she is of her for being caring, so she shouldn't fight Riley on this too much.

"Well, you make her feel welcome, okay? Lord knows the Caldwells haven't."

It's her mom's tacit way of approving of her sexuality, and Riley smiles into her coffee cup. "I will. Can I help you with the waffles?"

"Absolutely not! Go and look after your, uh, _friend_." Her mom raises an eyebrow, and Riley grumbles a protest as she turns away, second mug in hand. She can only hope a double shot will be enough to get Abby through this morning.

Abby riffles through her duffel bag, finally coming up with some underwear that has been worn a maximum of once before, and her comb, and bizarrely but helpfully, a sample-size can of dry shampoo. She's digging around looking for a shirt when her pinkie knocks it.

The ring.

She pulls it out, weighing it in her hand. The box is perfectly palm-sized, oiled wood. Harper would've loved it.

Oh, god. _Harper would've loved it_.

She swallows, fingers flexing automatically over it, feeling out how she would've proposed down on one knee, Harper looking delighted-

"Hey."

Abby jumps, fumbling the box.

Riley's leaning in the doorway, a mug of presumably coffee in each hand, and of course, she's fucking gorgeous. Her pajamas look like they were made to accentuate her whole body, her hair just kind of... does _that_ , and this is how she wakes up every day?

She also looks profoundly sorry for Abby, which makes her want to sink through the carpet.

"Is that the ring?" Riley asks, eyebrows quirked in the same sympathetic way she's been pulling out repeatedly over the past three days.

Abby swallows again, surprised that her throat is closing up. "Yeah," she manages. "I'm just gonna, um. Get changed." She drops the ring back into her bag. She just wants to catch her breath for a minute. Alone.

"Um. Use whatever you want, but I'm pretty sure it's all at least five years out of date," Riley says. "I made you coffee." She holds out the mug with a gentle smile.

Abby nods brusquely, brushing past her into the bathroom. She shuts the door and leans her forehead against it, taking some deep breaths.

It's way too early in the morning to deal with this many emotions, and Riley being all _Abby I brought you coffee_ and _weirdly hot_ _business casual pajamas_ and _I'll drive you across two state lines_ is not helping matters in the slightest. Not to mention, she's Harper's _ex_.

Abby gulps down some air and gets the spiraling panic under control after a few moments, then stretches her hands above her head, turning to the mirror.

God, she looks awful. She starts by brushing her teeth, painfully reminded of two nights ago, texting Harper cute pics of herself in the bathroom.

Is every _fucking_ thing she does going to remind her of Harper?

She closes her eyes, rinses and spits, and begins combing her hair out. It's kind of greasy and gross — she's been running her hands through it in overdrive for the past few days — but she just puts some dry shampoo in it and uses a couple of bobby pins to slick down the hair on the left side of her face rather than bothering to shower again.

After she dabs on the minimum amount of concealer so that she doesn't look as bad as she feels, she gets dressed.

Of course, this is made more challenging by the fact that she bolted in here midway through looking for a shirt and is now _lacking_ said shirt.

She exhales sharply, staring up at the ceiling in exasperation, then crosses one arm over her chest and goes back into Riley's room.

Riley's dragged her suitcase out from the cupboard and is neatly folding things into it. She looks up cursorily, then immediately back at Abby's folded arm. Her eyes get wider for a moment, then she glances down at her suitcase. "Do you, um, need a shirt?"

Abby definitely shouldn't be gratified by the strangled tone she takes on, but she is.

Just a little.

"Uh, no, I got it. Just forgot to, uh, take it with me." Riley tries not to let her eyes be dragged to Abby's chest as she bends down — _is she doing this on purpose_?

Riley tries very hard to focus _only_ on refolding the shirt she's packing.

While she carefully pats out the creases from her twenty-year-old Michigan Science Camp t-shirt, Abby pulls on a white tank top and turns back around. The hem is rolled up at the bottom, revealing a strip of skin and Abby's belly button. She stretches up, making it ride up even further.

Riley tries to control the flood of heat to her cheeks, with predictably poor results.

She _thinks_ Abby might be smirking. Fine. So that's how it is.

Riley composes herself. "I'm almost done packing, so we can do Christmas breakfast with my parents, then get going?"

Abby twitches a little. "Riley, you really _don't_ have to do this."

Riley folds the last shirt into her suitcase, holding Abby's eye. It's evident that Abby's not the kind of person who likes accepting help, but Harper's really left her up shit creek without a paddle this time. "You're actually doing me a favor," she says, trying for a comforting smile. "I don't want to spend Christmas with my Aunt Patricia, and she doesn't want to spend Christmas with me either. I'll have much more fun with you." That last bit might be a little too much, but sometimes her tongue just… gets the better of her. She bites it instead of continuing.

It's Abby's turn to blush. She runs her hand through her hair and mumbles a thank you, suddenly finding the floor extremely fascinating.

"We could split a hotel room for a couple nights while you look for a new place? You can show me the sights of Pittsburgh, even," she suggests. She knows she's being forward, but… fuck it, it's part of the charm, right?

Not to mention, she has no interest in sleeping at Harper's apartment, and she doubts that Abby can afford to pay for accommodation for more than a few nights. Riley would be more than happy to pay for a hotel room for both of them, but that might be pushing the limits of Abby's comfort a little too far.

Abby puffs her cheek out for a second, sighing. "Riley…" She shakes her head. "It's okay, I'm meant to be pet-sitting… I can crash at the Yangs' apartment. You can, uh, stay with me if you like. Or not. You can come home. It's not- You don't have to-"

Riley interrupts before Abby can dig herself an even bigger hole. "I think I'll stay at least tonight. I don't know if I can make it to Pittsburgh and back before dark."

Abby scuffs her toe along the floor before saying in a small voice: "Okay."

Riley drops the lid on her suitcase, then picks up Abby's coffee. "Here," she says. "Double shot. You look like you need it."

"Thanks," Abby says wryly.

Riley takes a sip of her own coffee and adds, "I gotta convince Dad to come in for presents. Wanna come?"

Riley's dad is putting the final touches on a wooden birdhouse shaped like the Eiffel tower when they enter the garage. "You must be Abby," he says, pulling off his thick leather gloves and stretching out a hand. Abby shakes it firmly, immediately a lot more at ease.

"Great to meet you, Mr. Bennett," she says politely.

"Please, call me Marcus," he says, reaching over to pull Riley into a hug. "Is your mom going to love this bad boy or what?" He pats a hand on the birdhouse and all three of them grimace as it comes away dark brown with the obviously-recent varnish.

"Bad boy? Nothing will be a badder boy than the Colosseum of 2016." Riley smirks and looks at Abby, raising an eyebrow to let her in on their family joke.

Abby muffles a snort, and Mr. Bennett puffs up with pride.

"Right you are, but sometimes you just create something so good that everything else can only ever be second-best." He lovingly taps her chin, immediately transferring varnish onto her face. She screws up her nose.

"I might get her to come out here to see it, though. Don't want to get this stuff on the couch." He laughs, and Riley rolls her eyes and grins at him.

"Come on. Ma's made waffles."

Abby trails them inside. After the Caldwells' snide comments at the disastrous dinner, she's surprised at the obvious love and care between Riley and her dad.

The three of them sit down at the dining table and Mrs. Bennett brings out the waffles.

Her mom, Mrs. Bennett – another "Please, call me Maria!" – plies Abby and Riley with maple syrup after sending Marcus to wash his hands. "It's the real deal," she says brightly.

"Oh, well, thank you," Abby says, spooning some over her waffles, ducking her head as she passes the glass pottle to Riley.

The conversation flows around her, and she's able to relax for the first time in a week. She doesn't have to say much, which is a relief. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett enquire about her work, and then her studies, avoiding the topic of Harper and the Caldwells like a sprained ankle. Still, she's uncomfortable hogging the spotlight at their family Christmas, so she hastily shifts the topic to Riley's residency.

Riley rolls her eyes. "Mom and Dad love carting me out for everything from bacne to breastfeeding advice."

Her mom laughs. "It's good practice! Abby, surely you have a mole you need checked out while you're here?"

Riley does a mock bow, hair falling into her face, which somehow makes her even more attractive than before. "At your service."

The exchange has the practiced overtones of a long-running joke, and Abby smiles. "I was actually hoping I could ask you…"

Abby's distracted by Riley's conspiratorial wink — she actually _winks_ at her — and Mrs. Bennett begins clearing the table.

Mr. Bennett helps load the dishwasher while Abby wipes down the table, grateful for this seemingly normal family dynamic. There's a wedding photo on the wall of the dining room: the Bennetts all together. Mr. and Mrs. Bennett are holding hands, a blissful bride and groom. Riley looks young, not more than five, toothily grinning in her flower girl dress. A tall boy stands behind her. He looks almost exactly like Riley – it's almost uncanny. Abby hears the dishwasher start and quickly moves to look busy with chores instead of snooping.

Mr. Bennett ushers her into the living room and offers her a seat beside the absolutely loaded Christmas tree. It's mostly decorated with misshapen salt-dough baubles and tinsel, interspersed with a few expensive-looking pieces. Abby crosses and uncrosses her legs uncomfortably, scanning the decorations on the mantelpiece instead.

_This_ is the kind of Christmas she was used to, the kind she'd expected from Harper and the Caldwells. She'd been bracing herself for this pain, the pain where she half-expects her parents to walk right in and carry on exchanging presents. Once she got here, Harper had made sure she had to deal with a whole other kind of messed up. It still catches her right in the chest, and she's glad that no one is trying to make small talk with her, because she doesn't know if she could get any words out right now.

Mrs. Bennett comes in from the kitchen, apron gone and hands washed. "Merry Christmas, darling," she says, looking at Riley's dad with such care that it makes Abby's heart ache even more deeply.

"Merry Christmas," he responds. He sits opposite Abby on a squashy-looking sofa and begins unpacking pieces from a large leather satchel, clicking them together with careful attentiveness. Abby finally figures out that he's got a _legit_ old Polaroid camera just as Riley returns, sitting next to Abby.

She's changed out of her fancy monogrammed pajamas into a low-cut top, men's dress pants, and the black blazer that Abby assumes is her go-to wardrobe choice. She smells musky, like men's deodorant, and, like almost everything about Riley Bennett, Abby should _not_ be into it… but she 100% _is_ into it. 

Riley flashes her a grin just as Marcus raises the camera and snaps a photo of them.

The noise startles Abby, and she jumps. Riley lays a hand on her thigh, and Abby breathes harder, swallowing deeply at the touch. Marcus carefully peels the Polaroid out of the camera and hands it to Riley. She holds it, unmoving, between her fingers.

"It blows out the colors if you shake it," Riley says at Abby's enquiring glance. She lays the photo carefully on the couch arm. "Okay, my turn," she adds, reaching over for the strap of the camera.

She checks something through the viewfinder, then gestures her mom to sit next to her dad. He puts an arm around her, and Riley snaps the picture at the exact right moment. Abby looks down at her hands, uncomfortably aware of the lump forming in her throat.

They meander through the presents ritual with a lot of _oohing_ and _aahing_ and Abby wishing she wasn't such dead weight, both in terms of conversation and present-having. True to Riley's threat-slash-warning, her mom has found a box of chocolates and wrapped them up for Abby, which she accepts with many thank yous and apologies that she doesn't have anything for them.

They wave her off, and after the gifts are unwrapped and tidied away, Riley's mom and dad get occupied with preparing for their family dinner.

"That's our cue," Riley tells Abby, gesturing up the stairs. "Let's get everything in the car and say our goodbyes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my wonderful beta, [resurrecho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrecho/pseuds/resurrecho).  
> My city has just been plunged into lockdown after like... ten months of almost complete freedom so expect me to have a lot more time on my hands lmao.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [resurrecho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrecho/pseuds/resurrecho) for betaing! I'm about halfway done as of posting, but it feels right to begin posting on Christmas!


End file.
